


All Men will have their Reward

by ApolloLanding



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Combeferre looks after Enjolras, Did I mention fluffy?, Fluffy, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-14 13:30:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1268179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApolloLanding/pseuds/ApolloLanding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre's relief turned quickly to concern as he noted the atmosphere of tension and concentration in the usually congenial fug of the cafe. He realised straight away what the matter was. Someone was hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfiction. I have enjoyed reading fanfiction of many genres over the years, about time I gave something back! I would love love love any comments. I will post the remaining chapters over the next few days.

Combeferre sighed heavily as he pushed open the door of the Cafe Musain. As he passed through he shook his head and sent drops of rain flying from his hair, as though trying to dislodge the unpleasant memories of that afternoon's rally. It had taken weeks of hard work, much of it his, to plan and execute the rally and to persuade members of other worker's groups to attend. For once it had not been the National Guard to blame for the fracas, but, rather unruly factions within these groups, especially, Combeferre suspected, the tannery workers. 

From his post at the back of the crowd, which had been large, he had been unable to see who had begun the fisticuffs. He had heard Enjolras' furious voice imploring the crowd to be calm and that was the last he had see of any of his friends. 

Combeferre had seen a few men with bloody noses and split lips hastily leaving the scene, he himself had injured his backside when a sea of bodies suddenly barged into him, making him lose his balance and land on an unluckily placed cast iron water pump. His hip and leg ached miserably as he lifted his foot over the step into the cafe. His friends had agreed to meet in the back room there if separated in events such as today's debacle. 

An opportunity wasted, thought Combeferre again bitterly. Today's crowd had been a good one, yet their chance of winning over the people had been ruined by a bunch of louts, most of whom had probably spent the morning in the bars spending their meagre wages. 

Combeferre had no idea whether his friends would have returned to the cafe before he did. He was relieved therefore to see a familiar huddle of half a dozen heads around a table in the back room. His relief turned quickly to concern as he noted the atmosphere of tension and concentration in the usually congenial fug of the cafe. He realised straight away what the matter was. Someone was hurt.

He crossed quickly over to the table, where he could see Enjolras seated backwards on a stool, arms spread over the small table in front of him and hands held firmly between Feuilly's in the opposite seat. The Chief's trousers were undone and pulled right down, exposing the cleft of his buttocks. His shirt was hitched over his shoulders and was sodden with blood. Blood trickled steadily from an ugly gash his lower back. 

Joly was seated in a chair behind Enjolras, craning his neck to see the wound in the dim light. His hand were slippery with blood as he probed the area, though he periodically stopped to press a piece of cloth to the man's skin. 

Combeferre suddenly felt nausea rising in his throat. Of course it had to be Enjolras, always in the middle of a fray. But the sight of his closest friend's blood pooling on the wooden seat was horrifying. He cleared his throat. Faces looked around at him, Enjolras lifted his head, seeking out his friend's eyes. He looked well enough to Combeferre, a little pale, a little angry still. 

"How did this happen?" he asked, in a voice that came out far more firm and businesslike than he had expected it to. No-one answered at first, until Grantaire spoke up from the corner. "He doesn't know - he didn't even seem to realise that he was bleeding like a stuck pig. I had to drag him away from getting back onto his stupid podium." 

The cynic's shirt and waistcoat were also streaked with blood, and Combeferre frowned as he looked him up and down. "I'm not injured, it's the great Apollo's blood" he added, gesturing towards himself. Grantaire looked upset and as sickened as Combeferre felt.

Joly met Combeferre's eyes for the first time. "I think he may have backed onto someone waving his knife about and was accidentally stabbed. One of those tannery lot, rough buggers they are. I don't know how much you saw, Combeferre, that ginger haired one we spoke to the other day was throwing his weight around, heckling, egging his friends on. I'm not sure who started it, but it turned into a right old brawl." He sighed, holding his bloodied hands awkwardly in mid air to avoid dirtying anything else. "And now look what we have to deal with." 

"Votte" said Enjolras impatiently through gritted teeth. "That was his name, Joly." 

Joly tipped his head toward Enjolras slightly in agreement before returning to address Combeferre. "Nothing important damaged I don't think, whatever it was went into the gluteus muscle - it's fairly deep but luckily it wasn't any higher up his back." 

As he spoke he placed both hands on either side of the wound and gently spread the edges apart, shifting so that Combeferre could bend his head and get a good look. "But Enjolras," he continued, "I need to stitch it quickly, for it's still bleeding rather fiercely, my friend." 

Enjolras grunted in response, still sounding rather more annoyed than pained. Combeferre moved around the table to inspect his friend's face again. He was noticeably paler now and his eyes looked weary. 

Combeferre felt suddenly galvanised. Enjolras could not sit here half undressed and wounded in a cafe. He needed a warm, quiet place where they could tend to him. And they needed to go there soon, before the full effects of shock set in, as Combeferre knew they would.

"Take him to my apartment" said Courfeyrac quickly, as if he had read his mind. "It's barely a hundred yards away and I have running water on hand."

Joly asked his great friend Bossuet to fetch his medical supplies from their rooms, before departing to try and clean his bloodied hands. Before he left he handed Combeferre what looked like someone's white bed linen, a strip already ripped from it. "Bind it as tightly as you can, for the walk" he instructed. 

Combeferre did as he was told. Joly was a terrible worrier and fusspot, but he could and would immediately take charge in a crisis, and he already had a year's hospital experience under his belt, while Combeferre was still attending lectures and practical demonstrations in the year below.

They hauled Enjolras to his feet between them and fastened his trousers as best they could over the bandage, pulled his shirt down and finally put Combeferre's long coat over him. 

Grantaire was given the task of carrying Enjolras' red coat in a bundle, for it was felt to be too conspicuous for him to wear in the streets. Enjolras cried out sharply in pain several times during this procedure but did not otherwise complain, and the friends set off slowly into the drizzle towards Courfeyrac's apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time the little party had reached Courfeyrac's a few minutes later, Enjolras had started to shiver and he stumbled against Combeferre as they steered him through the door into the rather cosy and well furnished little apartment.

There was a little delay while Joly and Courfeyrac collected towels and old linen for Enjolras to sit on. Courfeyrac would have forgone these things for his friend, but Joly insisted they would not needlessly stain his bed "any more than from your own endeavours!". 

Once Enjolras was lowered onto the now protected bed, Joly disappeared with Courfeyrac to set water boiling and retrieve the medical equipment from Bossuet, who had appeared pink and breathless, apparently having run all the way. 

Only Combeferre and Grantaire remained in the room, the latter fidgeting by the fireplace. Combeferre felt sorry for him, everyone saw the way he adored Enjolras and the current scene was surely difficult for him to witness. Plus, thought Combeferre wryly, it must have been hours since his last drink and the poor soul must be utterly twitching for one by now. 

On impulse Combeferre crossed the room and took both Grantaire's hands in his. Their eyes met, and he felt Grantaire relax his stance a little at the simple gesture of comfort. Without a word Combeferre released his hands and, running a hand through the sandy brown over-long hair that always flopped about his forehead, he turned to Enjolras. 

He knelt in front of him as his friend sat on the bed. His shivering was more pronounced now and even his lips looked pale. 

Combeferre took a deep breath. "How are you feeling, my friend?" he asked softly. Enjolras slowly raised his eyes, and Combeferre saw at once that he was at the end of his tether between the pain of the wound and the pain that the short walk must undoubtedly have caused him. Combeferre stood stiffly, cursing as his bruised hip protested, and leaned forward so that his forehead touched his friend's. "What happens next will not be pleasant, Enjolras" he whispered, so that only he could hear. "You know that. But it is necessary, to stop the bleeding. It cannot be put off. None of us would make you suffer unless we had to. You will need to be brave, and I will help you." Enjolras nodded slightly. Combeferre cupped his hand at the back of his friend's head affectionately, and found that, despite his shivers his hair was soaking with sweat and the blonde curls were tightening into ringlets. 

Joly bustled back into the room carrying a needle and thread in a saucer of alcohol, and a small glass which he tried to hide behind his back. Bossuet followed behind with a bowl of steaming water and the medical bag. Joly took a moment to observe Grantaire by the fireplace. The man looked anxious and drawn, and even from a little distance Joly could see his hands shake. "Go and make tea Grantaire" he commanded kindly. He stepped closer. "He will need it after. Indeed we all will. Be a good man."

Joly approached the bed and held out the glass to Enjolras. He spread his legs a little and folded his other arm across his chest, wishing to convey that this part was non-negotiable. Combeferre mirrored his stance. Enjolras looked up disgustedly at the two stern faces, though his eyes were lined with pain. "Not laudanum, Joly, no. I can bear it. You know how that filth disagrees with me". 

Combeferre interjected hastily. "We will not let you bear the pain, my friend. It would be cruel when it is not necessary. Besides, Joly's stitching is decidedly crooked at the best of times, never mind when the subject is unable to keep still!"

"Thank you, my esteemed colleague!" retorted Joly, pretending to look hurt. He said again to Enjolras “It's only half a dose, you will remain awake. It's just enough to take the edge off, prevent you jumping like a scalded cat when I am trying to do my embroidery masterpiece!" 

Enjolras obeyed with a sigh and drank it back. The two men undid his shirt and removed it, took off his trousers altogether and for warmth left him only in his long underwear, which had somehow escaped the worst of the bloodstains. Combeferre called to Courfeyrac, who was lurking nearby, to bring a blanket for their friend's shoulders. Finally they removed the bandaging around his waist and Joly inspected the wound again. "It's a clean enough cut, Enjolras" he said confidently. Won't take me too long. Just a few stitches." 

"Then you can rest a while, try out Courfeyrac's well-used bed!" added Combeferre.

"Combeferre, I would have him in a sitting position while I work. Leaning forward a little" said Joly, demonstrating. "There will be less stress on the wound after, and less pain when walking and such. Could you hold him?"

Combeferre positioned himself facing Enjolras, his left arm round his chest and under his arm. His friend's shoulder leaned onto his body, and with his free right hand he held Enjolras' head against his. Combeferre had long legs, and he folded them up awkwardly to get as comfortable as possible. Enjolras, who was shorter, had his feet just resting on the floor. 

From this position Combeferre had the advantage of being able to peer over to watch Joly as he worked and observe his stitching.

The laudanum was beginning to have an effect on Enjolras. He felt hot and anxious. Suddenly he didn't understand why his friends wanted to torture him and he couldn't see what they were doing behind him. He tried to pull away as the cold metal of the needle first touched his skin. Combeferre held him firm, but it still took Joly by surprise. Joly tried again, putting his hand on Enjolras' back first to warn him. The wounded man jumped uncontrollably, whimpering in fear. He was ashamed of his cowardice, but the laudanum seemed to have robbed all his defences. Tears came to his eyes.

Joly and Combeferre exchanged glances. They hadn’t expected the great chief, the strong one, to be distressed so, but they knew that in such a position of vulnerability any man could become afraid. Joly pondered and decided that a stern approach was best.

He addressed his friend in his best commanding voice. "Enjolras, let me do it now. The sooner I start, the sooner it will be over. Let me."

Combeferre stroked the damp hair tenderly and tightened his grip under Enjolras' arm with the other hand. "Hear him, my friend" he added firmly. "I can see the wound from here Enjolras, I promise you. Six stitches, maybe eight. A mere ten minutes work. Come now."

Joly began to stitch. Despite the laudanum Enjolras could feel every piercing, every tugging of the thread through his tender flesh. His bare back was slick with perspiration and his arms and legs trembled with the effort of keeping still. Combeferre could smell the acrid, panicked sweat from his friend's armpits, and it mixed with the metallic smell of the blood which, at last, was ceasing to flow from the wound.

Joly looked up as he tied off the last stitch. His pleasant face looked strained as he straightened his aching back and stretched slightly. "All done, Enjolras. You have borne it well. I will cover and bandage it, and then we'll let you back down and you can sleep off the laudanum" he said. Then remembering Grantaire and the tea, he added "Could you manage a cup of tea first?".

Enjolras sagged with relief against his friend and let go of the handful of waistcoat that he had been clinging to. Combeferre could feel his friend's heart hammering away in his chest next to his and drew back slightly to observe him. The medical student may not have had the experience of Joly but he had tended patients and he could easily recognise the signs that someone was about to be sick. As he felt Enjolras' breathing quicken and his body stiffen Combeferre turned around and briefly let go of his friend, bracing his shoulder again with his other hand as he felt under the bed for the chamber-pot. He called to Courfeyrac, who had by now re-entered the room. Courfeyrac thankfully took in the situation quickly and managed to hand the pot to Combeferre just in time for Enjolras to vomit painfully over it. 

"What intuition, Courfeyrac!" said Combeferre admiringly. Though as he set the chamber pot aside he swore. "Damn no, some on my trousers after all. Still I suppose they were hardly in a good state to begin with after this afternoon." He turned back to his wounded friend, who had closed his eyes and was swaying slightly in Combeferre's arms. "Steady, Enjolras" he murmured in a gentle tone. "Hold on a minute more for me."

Joly quickly bandaged the wound and between the three of them they made a bundle of the dirtied linen, Enjolras' bloodied clothes, and Combeferre's trousers. "Ask Bossuet to take them to our washerwoman, Courfeyrac" said Joly. "We will settle the account with her later."

They lay Enjolras on his side in the now clean bed and covered him warmly. He had said very little since Combeferre had first found him at the Musain, which was unusual and worrying. His pupils were now quite dilated from the laudanum and his body felt limp under the influence of the opiate. He was still sweating and had begun to shiver again.

Joly knelt on the floor by his pillow and laid his hand on his friend's forehead. Enjolras opened his eyes blearily and smiled slightly at the sight of Joly's kind face. "I'm sorry I had to hurt you so, Enjolras" he whispered. "The wound will heal well, I think. How are you now? You feel a little warm to me."

Enjolras turned his head into the pillow and mumbled incoherently before his eyes fluttered closed once more.

Joly stroked the sweaty curls away from the hot forehead once more before standing up and brushing ineffectively at his dusty trousers. He met Combeferre's eyes. "I'm going to have a cup of tea, and then I will meet Bossuet back at the Musain and see if we can get the full story on this afternoon from the others. He will want it later" he said, gesturing towards the bed. "I need some fresh air also. I will take Grantaire with me, if he will come. I imagine he must need a drink by now  - I most certainly do" he added.

"You and Courfeyrac will need to watch him, Combeferre. He has a fever, feel for yourself. I hope it is just a reaction to the pain and the laudanum, but if he is no better after a couple of hours of sleep you must come and fetch me and we will take a look at the wound again."

Combeferre nodded and, casting a last look at the figure in the bed, he and Joly entered the main room to join the others.


	3. Chapter3

An hour passed. Joly and Grantaire had left to go back to the Musain after refreshing themselves and Combeferre and Courfeyrac sat opposite each other on the sofa in a somewhat uneasy silence. Both kept one eye on the door to the bedroom, which had been left ajar. Courfeyrac was reading a book but Combeferre could see from the occasional nodding of his head that he was beginning to fall asleep. The black curls peeping over the top of the book were frizzy with dried sweat and rain and still full of dust from the events at the rally. 

Eventually Combeferre hauled himself to his feet and swore as his stiff hip took his weight. He crept into the bedroom, intent on checking on Enjolras once more. Even from a distance Combeferre could tell that his fever had abated - his breathing was slower and deeper and he had thrown the covers off exposing an expanse of pale flesh. Combeferre cautiously touched his forehead, then the back of his neck, to be sure. He pulled the covers carefully back over his friend and crept away again.

Courfeyrac was alert once more as he returned, and raised his eyes in a silent question. "Much better" answered Combeferre with a smile. "He'll probably wake soon, want to do some work, knowing him. I'll put the kettle on again."

The next time Combeferre entered the bedroom he was indeed greeted by a pair of dark blue eyes watching him as he crossed the room carrying the tea-cup. Combeferre set it down on the bedside table and lowered himself carefully down to sit on the bed, not wishing to jar either his friend or himself. He extended a hand. "May I?" he asked softly. Enjolras nodded. Combeferre felt his forehead again, took his pulse and inspected the bandage around his back, which was still clean. "How do you feel?"

"Well, thank you" replied Enjolras in a voice that Combeferre was relieved to hear sounded very much like his old self. "My mind is finally clear at last, thank God. That blasted laudanum is hardly worth the cost for the little relief it brings, Combeferre".

Combeferre hummed noncomittally. "Can you sit up? You need to eat and drink. I've brought you some tea and I'll send Courfeyrac to the boulangerie in a minute."

Enjolras nodded again and managed to sit himself up fairly easily. He shook his head a few times as if he couldn't believe that the world was no longer spinning. He grunted a little as he reached over to take the tea and then exclaimed in amusement at the sight of Combeferre's legs.  "But what on earth are you wearing?" 

Combeferre looked ruefully down at his trousers, which exposed three or four inches of ankle and looked most peculiar. "Courfeyrac's. You vomited on mine, remember?"

Enjolras blushed, pink spreading across his pale cheeks. "Oh, of course. Forgive me, my friend."

"I tease, Enjolras. It is nothing to endure for my dearest friend. Besides, it keeps the washerwoman in business!"

Combeferre smiled warmly and stood to ask Courfeyrac if he would run downstairs for bread. He turned back to Enjolras and appraised him. A little colour had returned to his face and he had already finished the tea he had given him. 

"Do you think you might put a shirt on? I don't want you to get chilled. You can borrow one of Courfeyrac's, you'll have the opposite problem to me." He fished in the wardrobe as he spoke and found a shirt. Enjolras raised his arms with a wince as his friend dropped it neatly over his head. Enjolras was naturally slim in build and Courfeyrac's shirt was indeed rather too wide for him, falling open over the neck to reveal one sharp collarbone. 

"But Combeferre, might I get up now? I am heartily sick of this bed and this room. I feel sure the wound will not pain me too much to get from here into the sitting room. I would also like to talk with yourself and Courfeyrac about the rally today, see what your views are and decide what is to be done in future. One man we also need to see is Bahorel, he was trying to remove that imbecile Votte for me before the fight started and I expect he fully knows where the blame lies..."

Combeferre smiled patiently. He was also keen to discuss the rally with his chief and to exchange ideas, but his concern for Enjolras' strength remained. However he had known the blonde man long enough to know that such considerations were nothing to Enjolras when his passion was inflamed and his interest piqued.

"Yes of course, my dear friend. Joly has gone with the others back to the Musain to gather accounts, I have no doubt all of our party will be here in due course for they will want to see how you fare. You can get up, I would not stop you. Tell me if you are tired or in too much pain though, and I insist you eat before talking and have some more to drink. You need to be careful now, or we will have you swooning on the floor like a maid before you know it."

Combeferre pulled back the covers, and then waited for Enjolras to hesitantly stand, swearing freely as his stitches pulled. Once standing he seemed quite steady though, and stretched himself a little before taking Combeferre's arm and limping slowly into the main room.

Combeferre offered several different chairs and eventually settled Enjolras into a hard dining chair, leaning forwards on his elbows over the table. Courfeyrac entered with the bread and some cheese, and started when he saw Enjolras, now at least partially clothed in a too-large shirt and his long underwear, and seated upright. Courfeyrac's intelligent face illuminated with pleasure and he strode over to the table, kissing his friend warmly on both cheeks and beaming as he opened the parcels he had bought.

Enjolras ate hungrily and drank a second cup of tea and a glass of water that Combeferre brought for him. More colour returned to his face although he still moved stiffly and cautiously. He drew a pencil and sheet of paper on the table towards him and began to scribble notes, for his next speech, Combeferre guessed, watching him. The light had returned to his eyes as plans and ideas began to reform in his clever brain. 

Combeferre tried to add to the conversation where he could but his mind began to drift elsewhere. Unwelcome images of the needle piercing his best friend's pale flesh flashed before him, he fancied he could smell the blood still and he felt a despondency growing inside him. Was this to be how their revolution ended, days, weeks or months hence? With the pain and fear of his friends the only outcome?

Despite Enjolras' single-minded commitment to the cause and his energetic optimism, Combeferre wondered if the path they were taking was the correct one.

The door suddenly flew open after a hurried knock and, as Combeferre had predicted, Bossuet, Bahorel and Feuilly entered. After a short delay Joly followed, dragging a staggering Grantaire by his coat lapel. Joly noticed Enjolras sitting at the table and quickly deposited Grantaire on the sofa.

"Our cynic has had his fill of wine now, as you can see!" he remarked to no-one in particular as he crossed the room towards his patient. Addressing Combeferre, he added "I trust that you of all people have not let him out of bed in a feverish state?". As he spoke he pointed at Combeferre accusingly. Combeferre was used to Joly's tendency to overreaction and merely shrugged and raised his hands in a defensive gesture, but in truth he felt a little hurt. 

Enjolras also raised his hands as Joly approached him. "I'm fine, Joly, really" he began, but it was no use. 

"You weren't fine earlier, Enjolras, not at all" Joly replied brusquely. "Now hold still".

Joly put one hand on Enjolras' forehead and took his wrist with the other. He left them there for a long time, biting his lip and clearly fretting. When finally satisfied, he lifted the man's shirt without preamble and carefully moved the bandage aside, feeling with the back of his fingers alongside the angry wound for heat or swelling. Joly had a gentle touch, but Enjolras could not help hissing and gripped the edge of the table hard as his vision swam for a moment.

Joly took a step back and stared at Enjolras for a few more moments. Enjolras somehow didn't dare to continue his writing and fidgeted with the pencil instead. Noticing the plate and cups on the table Joly began to fire questions in turn at both Enjolras and Combeferre.

”Has he eaten?- is that the first cup you have drunk?  - has he passed water? - how badly does your wound pain you?" 

When he had heard the answers Joly seemed to relax a little and backed off towards the sofa, eventually perching on the edge next to Grantaire. "I will have to re-tie that bandage before you sleep again, Enjolras. Damnably difficult place to get it to stay put actually. Next time might you injure your finger or something a little more convenient to me?"

Enjolras saw his chance to change the subject. "There will not be a next time, my friend, once we have decided whether Votte and his band of trained monkeys will be present with us at the next protest." 

Joly finally sat back on the sofa and accepted a glass of wine from Courfeyrac. Grantaire had opened his eyes and was watching every move that Enjolras made with enraptured concentration. The atmosphere lightened.

Only Combeferre seemed still disturbed. He sat at the table and played with the uneaten food on his plate, staring out of the window. Usually he was the first with plans and opinions on the revolution, which he passionately believed in, but today he could not keep his mind on the subject at all. He accepted reluctantly to himself that the day's events were catching up with him. 

He jumped a little when the chair next to him was suddenly pulled out and Joly flopped into it, carefully setting his now nearly empty glass on the table before squeezing up to Combeferre, putting his arm around his shoulder companionably. He spoke quietly to him so that no one else could hear. "Do not stay with him here tonight, my friend. Go back to your rooms and sleep properly. Courfeyrac says he is willing to put Enjolras back in his own bed tonight, so we don't need to get him home. Someone will keep an eye on him, have no doubt of that. You look weary - it is hard to see a friend in pain, as well I know. You need to recoup your will and enthusiasm. Besides you have injured yourself also, don't think I haven't noticed that your leg is paining you. Do you concur?"

Combeferre was touched by Joly's concern and nodded, managing a small smile.

The late afternoon drew into evening. Enjolras began to visibly wilt, despite his attempts to hide his fatigue and pain. They had at least discussed the rally from everyone's point of view, even Grantaire's, who had sobered up remarkably quickly. He related what he knew of the violence and of Enjolras' injury, though he looked distressed at the memory. 

Everyone waited for Grantaire to bait and tease Enjolras, as was his habit, but to their surprise he answered questions sensibly and even added a couple of salient points to the discussion. Combeferre was relieved, for he was fond of the cynic and Enjolras often had a cruel tongue towards Grantaire. 

Eventually at Joly's insistence the meeting was closed and the friends agreed to meet the next evening at the Musain after they had performed their allotted tasks. Enjolras was to speak with Votte and try to get him on their side with a new pamphlet Courfeyrac had produced concerning sick pay for workers. It was agreed that the tannery workers were too numerous in this part of town and too influential to simply try to exclude them from further rallies. Enjolras could be extremely persuasive, and it was worth a try on the morrow.

The men rose from the table, Combeferre groaning involuntarily and Enjolras swearing colourfully as he stood. They smiled ruefully at each other. The friends rearranged themselves around the room and another bottle of wine was opened. Combeferre took a seat next to Grantaire on the sofa and listened to Joly cajoling Enjolras towards Courfeyrac's bedroom. Combeferre idly wondered why Enjolras bothered to resist, for he had turned pale again and was shivering visibly, though this time from fatigue rather than fever. Combeferre took a large gulp of his wine and threw his head back against the sofa, closing his eyes for a moment.

When Combeferre opened his eyes the dusk had long since fallen and it was dark outside. He was still on the sofa, someone had removed his drink and set it on the table before him. Grantaire was snoring drunkenly next to him with a blanket tucked around him. No-one else was in the  room.

Combeferre rose as quietly as he could from the sofa and found his coat and hat on the peg. He tiptoed into Courfeyrac's room and looked down at Enjolras, who had the covers pulled up to his chin and was looking peaceful with his blonde curls tumbling onto the pillow. Combeferre bent and kissed his best friend gently on the forehead. Then he turned and did the same to Courfeyrac, who was dutifully sprawled on the floor next to the bed on a pile of cushions.

As Combeferre limped slowly back to the apartment that he and Enjolras shared, he noticed the starving street children huddled in the damp corners, and the desperate homeless mothers and babies as if for the first time. 

He lingered to search through his pockets and give away the little money he had on him to the beggars. He looked at the little girls who were already deformed by rickets and would never give birth to their own babies, and the little boys overrun by parasites and filth and destined only for an early death. 

He thought again of Enjolras whimpering in pain in his arms, of the blood and vomit and sweat. And suddenly Combeferre understood once more. If they could change the world so that people were not allowed to routinely live and starve on the streets and where working men could earn enough to keep their own families, where children had food and access to a doctor, than that would be worth the sacrifice of their lives, worth their suffering. 

Even if the revolution failed, it would be better to die trying than to live and be forced to see the human misery around them every day and know that they did nothing.

Combeferre continued his walk home through the darkness, and he felt once more that he could face tomorrow without fear, as could all of his loyal friends, united in their cause.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a similar story in the pipeline (well, my head) if responses to this are OK. It will be more Combeferre/Grantaire centric with Enjolras and even more H/C!


End file.
